


productivity is relative

by quibbler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Somewhere around 1x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quibbler/pseuds/quibbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Saying his name repeatedly does not increase productivity."<br/>"Okay, got it."<br/>"... Or maybe it does."</p>
<p>She always begged and he never complied, but they kept coming back for more.</p>
<p>In which we get some backstory to Jemma's reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	productivity is relative

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a very long time since I've written more graphic smut, and let me tell you... It just feels wrong writing Fitzsimmons smut like this, but this has been rolling around in my head for ages, so I gave in. I started this last week and it's taken me a week to actually churn this out. THE THINGS I DO FOR YOU PEOPLE.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, and I'm posting this and running away to write other things. ♥

"Saying his name repeatedly does not increase productivity."

"Okay, got it."

"... Or maybe it does."

 

She tries to hide her utter frustration when he complies, though Jemma knows this is far more life-threatening. She keeps telling herself that as her brow furrows increasingly and he spares her a momentary terrified glance.

(Serves him right.)

\-----

_(sometime prior)_

They shouldn't be doing this.

It had started the night before their third year at SciOps, really, a drunken night that had ended in far more than either of them had bargained for. She and Fitz were both capable of drinking nearly everyone they knew under the table and somehow they had taken it a bit too far, all but ripping at each other's clothing and falling into bed together. It was only a rare, maybe once-a-month sort of situation, though it was getting noticeably more common in the past year. But it wasn't as though they were _in_ a relationship or had some contractual agreement--no, it was purely for biological needs, she reminded herself on occasion, even when his head was between her legs like it was now.

She let out a whimper, her fingers clutching at his curls as Fitz worked his tongue against her, pressing the flat of it against her clit. She tugged at his hair, trying to get him to press just there, but he only laughed, the sound reverberating through her. Jemma threw her head back against the pillow, a gasp shuddering through her. He was really damn good at this, and really damn good at frustrating her until she wanted to pin him against a wall if she were ever able to manage it. "Fitz," she whispered, straining her neck so she can see. He chose that moment to pause and look up, a devilish grin on his face and she felt herself flush, letting out a frustrated groan.

He delayed a moment longer, pressing kisses to her inner thigh before angling his thumb against her clit. She bit her lip almost hard enough to bleed. "Fitz," she moaned, desperation colouring her voice.

"'S not going to work, Jem," he murmured back, still grinning as he lifted his head to brush his lips against her lower stomach, his thumb still working her slowly. Her eyes remained half-closed as she moved one hand from his hair to clutch at the sheets. Leaving a trail of feathery, agonising kisses down her stomach and one hip, he reached one hand up to brush against hers, prying her fingers from the fabric and letting them intertwine with his. She stared at their hands locked together and a hundred stupidly romantic thoughts breeze through her head in spite of their current situation.

She thought about how long they'd known each other and how much they'd been though and how much they're going to experience on the Bus. She thought about their constant arguments and the way they could finish each other's sentences, about how much she liked his hair and eyes, about how they'd somehow been dressing similarly for years. She thought that this was all a _very bad idea_ , but all thoughts were dashed from her mind as he swiped his tongue against her clit again before sliding a finger into her.

Her breath caught in her throat, causing whatever words were about to fly from her lips to die on her tongue. He was laughing, the bastard, but whatever passing irritation she felt toward him barely registered because the vibrations shot through her and she finally drew a breath, gasping as though she had been underwater and she had just breached the surface. "Fitz!" she squeaked, her chest heaving. Fitz said nothing, only sliding a second finger into her, humming quietly. His fingers curled into her and he kept an agonisingly slow pace and maybe she was going to slap him or ride him into oblivion, or maybe she was just going to lose her bloody mind.

She let her other hand free from his hair, bringing it to rest over her stomach as she fought to breathe normally, to keep her heart rate anything but racing, to no avail. She was getting closer and closer with every stroke of his talented fingers, like the deliciously dangerous feeling of being too close to a cliff's edge. ."Oh, _God_ , Fitz--Fitz, please--"

\-----

Perhaps there had been a few too many beers, Jemma thinks, her head feeling a little too light, her vision just starting to go some sort of pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. She can hold her liquor better than most, but with the stress of the day's events, it seems that her body was succumbing to the alcohol's effects more quickly than usual. She wagers that the warmth is mostly from alcohol, but then she turns to see Fitz not-so-subtly staring at her and she grins as she approaches him.

"You're an arse," she mutters, shaking her head with no ill will whatsoever and barely suppresses the urge to raise a brow at him when he takes a step or two closer. She reaches out a hand to grasp his tie and pulls him close until their foreheads touch. A look of bewilderment crosses his face and she licks her lips before clucking her tongue softly. "Am I the only one who can't get you to _respond_ quickly after saying your name repeatedly?"

Understanding turns his confusion into something akin to possessiveness and she tries not to get too excited, but the warmth flooding her body is hardly just from the alcohol now. His hands find her waist and tug her flush against him, closing the minimal distance between them. "Let's put your hypothesis to the test, shall we?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is _basically_ entirely out of character, so I apologise profusely and will hopefully be bringing you IC Fitzsimmons in the next few days because it's so much easier to write them being clumsy and sweet and adorable than flat out horny.
> 
> That being said, it is wicked fun to write this Fitz.


End file.
